


Like a Sand Castle Crashing at Sea

by Spylace



Series: Odachi [5]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: They aren’t children anymore.





	Like a Sand Castle Crashing at Sea

He thinks something happened to him when he spoke to Hibari for the last time. It is like as though the man reached across the receiver, over thousands of miles, and plucked all future words right out of his mouth. Koujiro says he is being ridiculous but speaks for him all the same. The men of Vongola Famiglia still flinch every time his daemon addresses them directly. Their daemons hiss, growl, spit and scream at the perceived slight and impudence. They’ll get over it—Koujiro scoffs darkly, his rounded ears pinned to his skull. They had to.

Sometimes the Sun Guardian, Sasagawa Ryohei, brings them news of Japan—and Hibari. How Tamizuki has taken to playing in puddles like a very young cub who doesn’t know any better. How Ichiro Sato, in command of the Osaka area, had been killed in a skirmish. How elders of the Muratori family had bullied Hibari (he doesn’t know how that happened, it would have never happened if he and Koujiro were there) into the prospect of early marriage.

Obviously, he isn’t invited; he couldn’t have gone anyways.

Later, Delacouri will swear an oath and Gokudera light up a cigarette with a black look on his face. Takeshi is as happy as he will ever be since Thailand, the right side of his face splattered bright red. There is a cut on his chin that Koujiro licks with an obscene temper, particles of dust left on his teeth.

“It’s okay.” He says, offering his own hand. The daemon doesn’t hesitate and the crack of bones is audible as the sudden spurt of blood in the dog’s left paw. “It’s going to be okay.”

There is a scab on his elbow that he snags open with a nail, smearing a streak pointing to the dry creases in his elbow like a comet with a crimson tail. Lazily, Koujiro suggests that they start to move. The target is now in place, the touristic Hawaiian shirt almost blinding. The Shigure Kintoki feels heavy in his hands and he has never been so lost.

This is year one.

 

Takeshi graduates high school when he is eighteen. By that point, he has broken his throwing arm twice, had eleven stitches in his calf, flunked literature and made the baseball team every single season. He can practically feel the principal drill holes into the back of his skulls as diplomas are handed out and he grins, unrepentant, at the memory of when he broke the classroom window.

To celebrate, his family takes him out to an extravagant whore house they own in Tobita Shinchi. Uncharacteristically jovial, Nakamura Hayate, an advisor, introduces him to an older woman who calls herself ‘Tsubaki— _omedetou gozaimasu_ ’. She proceeds to go down on him in full view of everyone, luscious pink lips stretched around his cock as a clever hand squeezes his sack and push at his entrance. Her cat daemon mounts Koujiro from behind and he comes embarrassingly fast, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood.

Dazed, he barely feels the claps on his shoulders that declare him a man. Tsubaki pulls him to his feet, his dick still hanging out and Koujiro pressed like a hot brand against his knee. She leads him to the sanctity of her private room and draws the doors close. With a coy laugh, she plays with the gold strings of her obi before unraveling it and laying her flesh bare.

Tsubaki is tall for a woman, an ivory face beset with sapphire eyes. She lays his hand across her right breast and guides the other in her mouth. He thumbs away the cum on her lips as she sucks on his fingertips, slow and needy, her tongue kissing the air when they slip out slick down her chin and the willowy curves of her body.

She presses close, a bruised knee sliding between his legs. Who are you thinking of?—she breathes and Koujiro pushes her daemon against the floor.

Inside, Tsubaki is warm, soft and gentle in a way her mouth wasn’t. She grunts and he kisses her breast, apologizing for his clumsy fumbling as he leaves new fingerprint patterns all across her knee. The tight passage of her body clamps down as he fucks her, her hair coming disarray and her stomach quivering with each thrust.

Not inside, he grits his teeth and swallows down mouthfuls of fortifying, sex-drenched air. Koujiro lets out a sonorous howl that is met with cheers of approval from the outside. Takeshi pulls out and spills his seed across her thighs. He stumbles backwards with his hand sticky and pushes his hair back with the same hand.

His daemon laughs at him as Tsubaki politely offers him sake. He declines; he has somewhere else to be.

 

In the end, he doesn’t remember how he gets back to the Muratori compound. He might have walked, gotten a cab; Koujiro might have shifted a camel or Kusakibe might have driven them all home. But that is not important.

“I’m not drunk.”

Hibari stares back dispassionately, still wearing the clothes from the earlier party, cradling a glass of something golden-amber in his hands. Tamizuki’s eyes glow like eerie will-o-wisps in the dark, she had not answered when Takeshi stumbled across them, Koujiro an emerald torque around his throat. He is seeing doubles and triples now, his vision merging with that of his daemon’s as he leans close against the older man and grins. “See?”

“You smell like a woman.”

Unfair, he and Koujiro thinks, considering the number of times Hibari has worn another’s perfume, flaunting it like a string of conquests. His eyes droop as though leaden and he falls to his knees, digging his fingers into the inseam of the other man’s trousers. In the yard, Tamizuki freezes; it is the only indication of surprise from the Muratori head.

“It’s our birthday today.” He adds, “Don’t be so mean.” An indecently loud zip later, Hibari’s cock springs free, bobbing up and down in the cool air. Come morning, they won’t speak about this, it’s not denial but it’s closer to the truth than any of them are comfortable with. Perhaps this is what gives him the courage as he breathes into the other man’s heady musk.

“I fucked her.”

“Is that right?”

Hibari’s voice rumbles over him like the beginnings of thunder, potent and heavy, so full of promise. He barely trembles when Takeshi wraps his fingers around his slim shaft, nails running down the thick vein beneath and his thumb pressed against the slit.

“But I thought about you.” He continues with a quiet hum, licking the head experimentally. Salt and bitterness explodes in his mouth, Koujiro squeezes and he gasps, “I held her down and I fucked her and I thought about you.”

“Quiet”

The Vongola’s Cloud Guardian thrusts into the sticky red heat of his mouth, head tossed back and exposing the graceful line of his neck. This is not the first time they’ve touched each other, this isn’t even the first time they had sex. But it is the first time Takeshi initiated such contact; the novelty is enough to keep him from being rejected for now.

Tamizuki grumbles on the ground unattended. Koujiro loosens himself from around Takeshi’s neck and slithers down his back. The daemon morphs into a salamander, becomes a lizard, a rat, a bird like some bizarre reenactment of the theory of evolution. The two meet, one a fisher and the other a crested porcupine, and circle each other with their noses touching. Electricity leaps between them and impatient, Hibari takes advantage of the younger man’s absent gag-reflex and comes down his throat.

Takeshi’s vision turns white.

He thinks he falls a bit more in love right there.

 

Seventeen months and two days into his service, Mukuro Rokudo propositions to him out of the blue. The man is an anomaly, eerily similar to them but not the same. He is a witch, the only male witch in the entire world. Briefly, he spares a thought to what Vongola had to do to bring a man like him down in chains. His heart beat slows and he knows Koujiro feels it too as he licks the stray droplets of milk off his muzzle. Takeshi discards his bottle of milk—“okay”.

 

They don’t touch—they never touch.

Avila stays perfectly balanced across Mukuro’s back when they fuck, her ivy black eyes as mysterious as the fathomless seas, always staring, assessing, comparing and sometimes he wants to reach out and touch, just to see if she is alive and isn’t that a silly thought because a man cannot live without his daemon; without their daemons, they are not whole. But Koujiro remains curled up in the corner making murmurs that could be anything from encouragements to hurt noise. Their minds are oddly disassociated when they are with Mukuro and it scares him how good it feels sometimes to have a thought that is his very own. But he is also scared, scared that when he opens his eyes Koujiro will be gone and leave him half-man and half nothing. He reaches out to the dog, the rabbit, the vole or the stag beetle they kept as a pet once, the salamander, the snail, the swallow, and everything else in creation.

Takeshi has always wondered if daemons could become human.

 

“I don’t understand...”

He is proud of himself for sounding so composed. The teacup barely shakes when he sets it down, fingers trembling and his posture stiff. Koujiro sings in his mind, chanting ‘not real, not real, not real’ over and over again until it drowns out all external noise; until it feels like it’s just them against the world in the small café looking over the Tevere.

He feels cold and hollow all at once, as though someone has taken a knife to his gut and carved him up like a Halloween pumpkin. They shouldn’t have come here but how could they have not? They are Yamamoto Takeshi and Koujiro, a man and a daemon who has yet to settle near three decades since their birth. Collectively, they are called killers, demons, assassins, the unofficial Rain Guardian of the Vongola Family as though the title is a curse. He is the inheritor to his father’s art and Hibari Kyouya’s dog, Takeshi Tsuyoshi’s death hence. How could he refuse the wife of a man who he’s devoted his life to?

“You do,” Haru says to him serenely as her butterfly daemon, Uzumaki, sips her coffee. She lets a hand settle above the flat of her belly just above the pubic bone. The gold-embossed diamond ring on her finger glares up at them accusingly. Around his wrist, Koujiro trembles with loathing and barely suppressed fury. “You will.”

 

Year three and they catch scent of familiar cologne, a whisper of fabric in the shadows and blue eyes that haunt their dreams. They lock themselves up in their room, the door fortified with every single piece of Spartan furniture and they splay out on the floor, empty bottles of wine both domestic and foreign rolling across the stained carpet.

Koujiro, heavily inebriated and a wolf, wiggles against him as close as he can get without turning into a tape worm and slipping beneath his skin. It’s like sex, Takeshi thinks, but different—intimate. He laughs and rolls them over, fingers curling against the dense belly fur. ‘Love you’ the daemon whines, licking his face over and over like that’s going to make things better, until he can’t tell if it’s saliva or tears that run down his face.

“You scared?”

‘Yes’ Koujiro answers, daring not to speak the word out loud.

“Okay.”

The next day, he knocks Hibari out and pretends to be the Vongola’s Cloud Guardian. Reborn gives him a short, approving nod and Gokudera looks constipated, Delacouri’s tail lashing out behind his ankles as Tsuna offers meaningless platitudes. He shakes their hands, one after the other and gets into a car, Mukuro beside him with his daemon around his shoulders. Koujiro sits on his lap, Tamizuki’s carbon copy down to the last quill and whisker.

When they get to the rendezvous point, they pay for their loyalty with three bullets to his chest.

 

The first thing to return is sound, then the indescribable pain in his lungs. No, that is wrong. He sees Vastro’s face through hazy eyes, a hot pulse thundering down his arm when he punches the man in the face taking his entire head off of his shoulders. The man’s hawk daemon immediately bursts into a cloud of dust, like gunpowder to his sensitive nose. Takeshi screams as he is flipped over, suddenly staring into Mukuro’s painted eyes as he tries to count his breath. Avila waves her tongue in front of him, appearing to be a gorgon of old. He sees how he stomps on a greyhound like it is a trampoline and smashes its ribs.

“Pay attention Rain Guardian.” The black mamba advises as Mukuro applies first aid. Takeshi bats his hands away, terrified at their close proximity, terrified because the other man is touching him. He can see the Mist Guardian’s hands glowing as a spell is cast; he feels sick.

“You don’t understand.”

Riina, always a thorn at their side with his bowl-cut hair and a silver tongue, empties his pistol into Koujiro’s bulk. Strangely, the last thing he thinks of is Hibari, his face closed off in ecstasy as he came in his mouth.

‘There is nothing in it for me.'

 


End file.
